


Unexpectant

by avaalons



Category: American Actor RPF, Chris Evans - Fandom
Genre: Adoption, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Infertility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 20:31:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avaalons/pseuds/avaalons
Summary: Reader insert exploring issues of marriage, infertility and adoption.





	1. Chapter 1

‘Babe, come on, I know it’s frustrating but we’ll get there eventually,’ Chris was doing his utmost to calm you down.

You’d just walked through the front door of the home you shared. The home you purchased three years ago in preparation for your expanding family, an expansion that had yet to materialise and still wouldn’t, as the meeting you had just come from had proved. You walked with purpose through the house, heading for the stairs and beyond them your bedroom, tension rolling off you with every thundering step. The rational side of you knew that Chris was only trying to help, and that you were hurting him by pushing him away, but you just needed time.

‘Chris, I just want to be alone for half an hour to be angry and helpless, okay? Just… I’ll be fine later.’

‘Sweetie…’ Chris started in your direction but you were already up the stairs, the grief threatening to explode out of you, and out of his reach. You slammed the bedroom door closed and threw yourself on the bed, grabbing a pillow and throwing it in frustration across the room, watching as it landed to the floor with a thud. The outburst relieved nothing and the tears spilled over. 

Why did this whole damn process have to take so long? Why did you have to jump through so many hoops and bend over backwards to prove beyond all doubt that you would be good - no exceptional - parents, when anyone else could just pop a kid out as they liked, regardless of their suitability? The injustice of it made you want to scream. All you wanted was to be able to give a safe, stable home to a child that was otherwise quite alone in the world. The implication that living in care was somehow more preferable than living with you and Chris was heartbreaking. 

But under all of that, of course, was the very real guilt that you wouldn’t be in this position anyway if you had been properly equipped, from a medical point of view, to be pregnant. The one thing you and Chris wanted, the one addition to your lives that would complete you, was the one thing you couldn’t have and it was because of you. The sobs shuddered through your body as you grieved for the children you couldn’t have and no one would trust you with. You couldn’t shake the sickening feeling that this was somehow meant to be; that the reason you couldn’t have children, in any sense, was because you just weren’t cut out to be a mother. Surely this was confirmed by, in the beginning, every failed pregnancy test and now, every shake of the head or sympathetic glance as you sat down in featureless, vomit-coloured offices to be told, yet again, that there wasn’t a match, that another couple were better matched to a baby than you.

You rolled over on the bed, burying your face in the duvet and pounding scrunched up fists into the mattress. The thought that you should let Chris go, should relieve him of the frustration of being shackled to you, you who had failed him, and allow him to achieve his dream of a family with someone that could provide it settled over you like a dark, impenetrable fog. 

***  
You must have cried yourself to sleep because it was pitch black in your room. It was eerily quiet and the chill of night time had crept over your skin. A glance at the digital alarm clock told you it was 2.12 am. Lifting yourself up on to your elbows, you tried to make out the shape of Chris next to you. Stretching out a tentative arm, you felt for his warm presence but his side of the bed was cold. Everything was cold, and empty.

Pulling yourself wearily from the bed, you padded over to the door, eyes heavy and throat thick from crying. In the kitchen, you poured yourself a glass of water and drank it down in one over the sink, trying to alleviate the scratchy feeling when you swallowed. Despite sleeping for the best part of eight hours, you were exhausted, your body feeling wrung out and limp. 

Having not found Chris in any of the downstairs rooms, you continued your search upstairs but his study was in darkness. Confused, you opened the door to the nearest guest bedroom, again finding only darkness. In the second guest room, however, you found him. The bedside lamp was on and he was dressed in sweats and a white tshirt, glasses on, propped up against a few fluffy pillows with his legs stretched out in front of him and his ankles crossed. He’d clearly fallen asleep reading as there was an open book resting pages down across his belly, his fingers still tucked around one cover. His head had slumped over slightly in slumber and you knew that it would hurt in the morning if he didn’t move soon. Just the sight of him here, alone, instead of in the bed you shared, threatened to turn the tears on again but you took a few deep breaths and tried to steady yourself. Backing out of the room quietly, you softly pulled the door closed before tiptoeing to the master bedroom and laying back down in your cold bed. You’d never slept separately, not since you’d first moved in together. 

*

Chris didn’t know what to do. Not ever in his whole life had he felt so utterly useless. As he watched your retreating form heading for the stairs, he could think of nothing to say, nothing that would alleviate the desolation. 

Half an hour came and went and he had been sitting at the kitchen table staring into space. The glass bifold doors gave an uninterrupted view of the enormous plot of land this house rested on. It stretched on and on and Chris could feel every empty inch of it. Dodger let out a small whine as he rose from his bed and padded over to where Chris was sitting, resting his head against the solid muscle of Chris’ thigh. 

'Okay big guy, what are we going to do about this?’ Chris spoke aloud, looking into those huge canine eyes. 'Because we’re all hurting so much that it’s going to tear us apart if we’re not really careful.’

Rising to his feet, Chris inclined his head towards the doors, 'Come on dude, let’s get some fresh air.’ 

Dodger was happy enough to run around and around, playing fetch or finding sticks or chasing his own tail, and Chris strolled along with his hands in his pockets, pensive and contemplative. He could remember all too clearly the day you’d both said you would start officially 'trying’ for a baby. You had been starting on dinner and Chris had come in to help, or his version of help anyway, and had slid his arms around from behind, hands smoothing over your then flat stomach. He had a sudden vision of the exact same scene but you with a taut bump that fluttered under his touch, and he knew then that it was baby making time. Luckily for all involved, you wholeheartedly agreed. In the beginning, you had talked excitedly about the plans for this garden. A swing set, a tree house, soccer posts. Maybe even one of those mini electric cars you’d always wanted as a kid. But as time wore on and disillusionment set in, you’d both been too afraid to mention anything future related. 

Chris stopped his slow pace and took a deep breath. Something had to give, and soon.


	2. Chapter 2

After settling Dodger in his bed for the night, Chris wearily ascended the stairs to your bedroom. Gently opening the door, he saw your sleeping form on the bed, fitful and uneasy. Quietly and slowly, he padded over to the bed and perched lightly next to you, watching your eyes flicker under your eyelids and your chest rise and fall with hitched breathing. He softly traced the tear tracks on your cheeks, wishing beyond anything that he could magic this all away. 

There were days when he thought that stopping the whole process would be the best thing for you both, that the strain just was too much and too all-encompassing, but he was far too afraid to voice those thoughts. Kids had always been on the table for you both; neither of you had made any secret about wanting a family. It had always seemed like an absolute confirmation of your love and commitment to each other, the fact that you were so certain you wanted to raise children together, as a team, as husband and wife. But now, those promises felt like uncomfortable shackles, binding you together, and the very real, nightmarish thought that kids were a deal breaker, that without kids there would be no team, no marriage, had danced around Chris’ head more than once over the past few months. Looking at you now, tracing those lines of grief with his thumb like a raindrop caressing a rose petal, Chris was struck with the extent of just how much you were utterly enough for him. Without children, without a fancy house, without nice cars, without glamour and glitz and three vacations a year, you were all he needed in the world. He could imagine any number and variety of futures, but you were the one constant, the one face that was always there, smiling, laughing, dancing. But he was equally struck with the creeping, panic-inducing doubt of whether or not you felt the same. 

Taking his hand back, he ran both through his hair and over his face helplessly. Feeling the type of exhaustion that you don’t get from lack of sleep, he lifted himself from the bed. Soft footsteps took him to the door and with one last look at you, fighting every muscle in his body that told him to curl himself around you, hold you tight and never let go, he tore his gaze away and stepped out into the silent hall. Giving the guest bedroom doors a cursory glance, he decided he didn’t give a damn which one he slept in and simply went for the one that had the most books in, imagining a long night ahead of him.

***

The early morning light was too bright and too stark, painting everything in sharp relief as you stood in the open guest bedroom door, a bag in each hand. Chris was still in the same position you found him in during the night but a small cough alerted him to your presence and his eyes fluttered open, his body automatically trying to straighten out his surely stiff neck. 

Taking you in through his drowsy state, he clearly saw you dressed for going outdoors, and the carry ons you held.

‘I - I’m going to my mom’s for a few days,’ you explained, voice quivering. Silence reigned as questions flashed across Chris’ features.

‘I just think… I need - we need - some distance from all of this.’ 

You wondered if Chris was going to ask any of the questions he was clearly forming. You willed him to. Ask me, stop me, forbid me from leaving. 

But eventually a sage incline of his head and a gravelly ‘Okay.’ made your decision to flee all too real. You swallowed a sob, gave a curt nod and spun on your heel, through the house and out into a waiting cab, annoyingly efficient and ready to take you to the airport. Your breathing was only made shallower by looking at the house so you tore your eyes away and concentrated on picking the glossy polish off your nails. You didn’t see the front door fly open and didn’t see Chris’ rumpled, devastated form silhouetted in the frame as the cab wheels crunched over gravel and sped you away, making that new gulf between you unbearably physical.

***

Three thousand miles. You’d put three thousand miles between the two of you and Chris couldn’t help but wonder if that was enough. Would you have gone further if you could? He’d lain awake for what felt like the majority of the last four nights and was beginning to lose his grip on rational thought. The days since you had left had blurred into one long grey, fuzzy stretch of time, punctuated by short check-in texts from you and occasional walks with Dodger. Even those, Chris had been worried about doing after the first couple of times when he got home and couldn’t remember where he’d been, so wrapped up in his thoughts he had been. He didn’t want to accidentally walk Dodger into trouble and risk losing yet something else from his life. 

He hadn’t even been paying attention to Dodger in the house, not really. He been fed, of course, and had his ball thrown when it was brought to Chris, but it was all a habitual process. So it didn’t surprise him to discover Dodger upstairs, where he wasn’t supposed to be, curled up on your bed in one of your ‘Sunday hoodies’, looking forlorn. 

Leaning against the door frame, Chris sympathised with him, 'I know Dodge, I miss her too.’ Chris quickly snapped a picture of him on his cell and tried composing a message. After a few false starts, he eventually typed out a few simple words. We miss you. Come back to us. It was delivered almost instantly and the 'read’ notification appeared but there were no three dots to follow, regardless of the time he spent willing them to.

***

'Look sweetie, not that I don’t love having you here, but you’re clearly miserable. When are you going back to that husband of yours?’ Your mom handed you a mug of steaming tea. 

'It’s not that easy mom. I need to figure out what to do.’

'What’s there to figure out? You’ve had a setback, that’s all. You’ll weather the storm together, be stronger for it and eventually things will work out. Perseverance is all that you need.’

It was so straightforward for her, you thought. Looking around the family room, evidence of the long history of your mom and dad’s relationship adorned the walls. There wasn’t anything in the world that they couldn’t get through, but then they’d never had to face something like this.

'Mom, you don’t get it. Chris could go off and find anyone, be perfectly happy with them and have a million kids. I’M the reason he can’t have what he wants. What we both want. It’s all my fault. All of it.’

At that moment, your baby sister walked in, have just awoken. Eighteen and fresh faced, she was waiting to start college in the fall. She was over a decade younger than you and you’d always been very much the Big Sister, someone to look up to and go to for advice. But she was grown up (almost) and you were sure you seemed perfectly old and boring to her now. Heading straight for the coffee pot, she took in the conversation between you and your mother and she pulled a face, 'Not this again.’

'What?’ You demanded, hackles raising and ready for a confrontation. 

'When are you going to stop whining and moping and just go and live your perfectly lovely life?’ She leaned against the kitchen counter, challenging you with a raised brow.

You were silent for a beat before the beast was unleashed, 'Are you being serious? What could you possibly know about anything?! Have you ANY idea what I’ve been through the past few years? Do you listen at all??’

'Of course I do, how could any of us not hear you? It’s all you’ve talked about. But have you ever stopped to recognise how many of your sentences start with 'I’? Stop being so damn selfish. Chris is a fucking saint to put up with you and your constant 'poor me’ attitude. He doesn’t WANT anyone else, idiot. He wants you, God knows why, and you don’t stop to think about how shit this must be for him-’

'How DARE you! Of course I do! Thinking about how shit it is for him is exactly why I’m here!’ 

'No. You’re here playing the martyr, as always. You can’t get something you want for once in your life and you’re stamping your feet and throwing a tantrum. Do you love him?’

'What? Yes, of course!’

'Then stop acting like you only married him to have a baby. That man is head over heels for you, kids or not, and you’re too blinded by your own selfishness to see it. We all love you to bits but you are so freaking spoiled, I swear to God.’ 

With that, she sashayed out of the room, leaving you blinking in astonishment. Your little sister had just fed you a huge slice of humble pie. Your glance flickered to your mom’s face, who you were sure had something resembling an amused smile on her mouth as she sipped her tea. Your cell buzzed in your pocket and when you checked it, the picture and message had you Googling flights instantly.

*

You were antsy on the flight. Everyone around you probably thought you had a severe fear of flying. The older gentleman sat next to you offered you a paperback from his collection, advising you that he always found reading to be settling, but you politely refused. 

The plane couldn’t land fast enough, everyone was going too slow, purposefully trying to hold you up. The cab line was huge and traffic was terrible. But finally, you were home and opening the cab door almost before the vehicle had ground to a halt. With a desperate, shaking hand you managed to get the key in the lock and let yourself in.

You were met immediately by Chris and his startled gaze. He’d been pacing the hallway. He held his cell to his ear and, judging from the noises of acknowledgement, was clearly listening to the speaker at the other end. You froze on the spot, silent, bags dumped on the floor, eyes locked on his. You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and feel his comforting embrace but his facial expression was wary, as though he were faced with an injured animal. 

Typical. You’d had this amazing, life altering realisation, courtesy of your eighteen year old sister, and you had caught him while he was taking a call. You used the pause to take in his purple shadowed eyes, the scruff along his jaw that was more than its usual level of slightly unkempt, the hair that stuck up on end from having fingers raked through it. 

'Yes. Yes. Okay, that’s fantastic. Okay, so when - all right, okay. I see. Well, okay, see you then. Thanks, bye now.’

After what seemed like a lifetime, Chris hung up and tucked his phone into his pocket, 'What-’

'No, before you say anything, I just want to make a little speech. I’ve been trying to think about what to say on the plane home, so just let me get it out, okay?’

A serious nod was your cue to talk and Chris seemed to gear himself up by tucking his hands into the pockets of his sweats.

'So while I was away, I had a realisation. I’ve been so busy blaming myself that I haven’t tried to support you. I’ve been taking so much and giving you nothing. I was so focused on MY problem that I stopped thinking of it as OUR problem. And that’s what it needs to be, isn’t it? We’re a team. We need to do this together and I need to let you comfort me when I feel sad, because that’s how you stop yourself feeling useless. And I need to stop thinking that you would surely just like to go and find some alternative girl with a perfectly functioning womb and ovaries - no let me finish, hear me out,’ you cut his interjection off, 'I need to accept that you love me, no matter what, as I love you, and that love means that even if we never have any children, we’ll still be happy and have a full and complete life, because we are enough - no, more than enough - for each other. Everything else is a bonus, right?’

Chris continued to stare at you, his expression unfathomable. It was silent for a few moments and you’d had a sudden horrible thought that the time apart had allowed Chris to see things clearly and decide he wanted out. But no, you were not going down that route. You believed in this, believed in the two of you.

Eventually, he spoke, corners of his mouth twitching up slightly, 'And it took you six days and three thousand miles to figure that out?’

You shrugged sheepishly, 'Apparently. Plus a few truths from Soph and a photo of certain little dude wrapped in my clothing. I’ve been so focused on what we couldn’t have that I stopped appreciating all the amazing things we do have. I’m so sorry, if I made you feel less than.’

He took a step towards you, bridging the gap, and you sprung into action, meeting him in the middle, wrapping your legs around his hips. He caught you precisely; you were made for him. That longed-for embrace finally happened and you breathed him in. Home at last. Small kisses fluttered across your neck and face until you wrapped your hands just under his ears and pulled his mouth to yours desperately.

'Let me show you just how much more than enough we are for each other,’ Chris asked, voice tight and husky. You nodded enthusiastically and Chris made for the stairs, carrying you to your bedroom for a reunion entirely focused on just the two of you, rediscovering the pleasure and excitement to found in each other’s bodies.

***

You traced swirly patterns across the hard planes of Chris’ chest and abs, your head resting in the crook of his shoulder. One strong arm was tucked firmly around you, his hand pressed possessively against your hip and lower stomach. The other rested on his own ribcage, and when your dancing fingers strayed too close to his, he caught them and brought them to his lips to kiss the back of your hand. A small giggle escaped your throat and he opened his eyes to smile indulgently down at you.

'Chris?’

'Hmm?’

'If you - do you think we should back out of the adoption process for a while?’ You felt him tense under you, clearly thinking about the best way to respond.

When he spoke, his words were considered and careful, 'What would be the reasoning behind that?’

'Maybe I - I want you to be certain of me. That you are my everything, before anything else.’ You shifted your head to gaze up at him and he searched your face.

'I never really doubted it until six days ago. I think this process has brought out our deepest insecurities but whenever that happens, we just need to remember that we didn’t get married to secure some baby deal. We got married because it was right for us.’

'So you don’t want to stop?’ You couldn’t help let the hope creep into your voice, but it was important he know that if he wanted to call the whole adoption off, you would be willing to as well. 

'Well it would be a shame to do that now, wouldn’t it?’ He was being deliberately vague and kissed your forehead to try and distract you from it.

You had a dawning realisation that he knew something you didn’t and you propped yourself up on your elbow, hand lightly tapping against his chest, 'Christopher Evans, what aren’t you telling me?’

His eyes were laughing when he spoke, 'Well I just mean that it would be a shame since we have a meeting with the social worker tomorrow. He rang earlier to confirm.’

The phone call he was taking when you arrived.

'A meeting? Tomorrow?’

'Yeah, I didn’t know what to say at first but then you walked in so I figured-’

'Chris, just tell me,’ you had to know and he was enjoying himself too much.

Another kiss to your forehead, 'Babe, they’ve found us a match.’


End file.
